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‘What?’ Lady Samantha looked crestfallen. ‘You don’t like her? But she’s so beautiful!’
My point exactly.
But I had a feeling I’d better not say that out loud. So instead, I cleared my throat. ‘Well…yes. But she has blonde hair.’
A puzzled frown spread across Lady Samantha’s face. ‘Is that a problem?’
‘Definitely! Any candidates for the post of your future daughter-in-law can’t be blonde - or black-haired, for that matter. Mr Ambrose only ever looks with interest at brunettes.’
‘Really?’
‘Oh yes. And they shouldn’t be too slim, either. I’ve been long enough with him to know from personal experience that he likes women with a little meat on their bones.’
‘Oh, Mr Linton!’ Reaching over, she clasped my hand. ‘Thank you! This is exactly what I need. Please, go ahead and look through the images, and dispose of those you think are unsuitable.’
A smile spread across my face. ‘My pleasure.’
I looked back down at the image in my hand - a slim, beautiful blonde girl with gorgeous green eyes. With a scowl, I threw it over my shoulder.
‘No. Next one…No, too tall. Next one - no, too small. Next one - yikes, no! Much too beautiful.’
Lady Samantha blinked. ‘That is a bad thing?’
‘Umm…well, yes, of course. You don’t want your son to marry for looks alone, do you?’
‘Well, no of course not, I would never…’
‘There, you see? We need ugly girls! Lots and lots of ugly girls.’
‘But…how do you know these ones will be more intelligent?’
‘We’ll only pick ones with really big heads, of course. Here, like this one.’ I showed her a picture - and she flinched back. ‘Didn’t you read of this brilliant new scientific discovery? Professor William H. Anstruther found compelling evidence that the intelligence of a person is relative to the size of their heads.’ Inconspicuously, I crossed my fingers behind my back. Please God, if you exist, forgive me. ‘It’s quite simple, really. Larger heads means more space for more brains.’
‘Oh.’ A smile brightened her face, and she squeezed my hand. ‘Thank you so much, Mr Linton! I’m so glad I have you to help me. I don’t know what I would do without you.’
Throw a magnificent ball with beautiful guests, probably.
‘So, let’s continue, shall we?’
‘By all means, do.’ She watched eagerly as I continued to sort through the pictures.
‘This one - God no! Just look at that devious smile of hers. She can’t be trusted. That one - no! She looks far too grim. Mr Ambrose needs someone with a little humour in her. This one - blonde Next one - blonde. Next one - blonde again!’
‘Um…that looks more like red to me.’
I gazed at the image critically. ‘Strawberry blonde,’ I decided, and it sailed over my shoulder onto the rubbish heap.
‘Next one - no. And… no. And no. And no. And not that one, either. Nope, she hasn’t got a chance. And that one? God, no!
The rubbish heap grew. Lady Samantha gifted me with a radiant smile. ‘It’s heartwarming to see someone besides me who thinks nobody is good enough for my boy.’
Nobody? Well, that’s not precisely true…
Finally, I had managed to wheedle down the competition - officially known as ‘honoured guests’ - from five hundred to thirty-six.
Thirty-six.
Thirty-six maybe not particularly beautiful but still much too womanly women, who, in a short while, would be invading this house and vying for the attention of Mr Rikkard Ambrose. With narrowed eyes, I surveyed the selection of harpies spread out in front of me. There were a few I could discount immediately - like Daphne Belleville, a seventeen-year-old hatchling who had just had her debut last month and, by all reports, was too shy to ask for sugar with her tea. One frosty look from Mr Rikkard Ambrose, and she would be scurrying off in the opposite direction. And as for Lady Caroline Sambridge, she had spent two thousand pounds last year on jewellery alone. Mr Ambrose wouldn’t touch her with a ten-foot pole.
